


No one belongs here more than you

by liketheroad



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:03:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheroad/pseuds/liketheroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Ryan writes a concept album, expresses his pain through his fashion choices and almost <i>Ryan's</i> his way out of the only place he belongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No one belongs here more than you

Part One

Spencer had noticed that Ryan packed a few of them, which had been enough cause for concern on its own. But he still hadn't expected Ryan to come out of his room the first morning they were are the cabin looking three years younger and lost, his collarbones jutting out to the stretched neck of one of his faded My Chemical Romance T-shirts. To complete the effect of transporting himself back in time, Ryan was wearing too-tight and ripped-kneed girl-jeans and a sparkley belt Spencer had been sure Ryan threw out after Jon joined the band. There was even eye liner smudged at the edges of Ryan's eyes, his hair falling into them.

Spencer felt his stomach drop and he wanted to rush over to Ryan and immediately demand to know what was the matter, but Brendon bounced across Spencer's line of view, distracting him. When he was done letting Brendon pester him with morning greetings, Spencer looked up again to see Ryan had tucked himself up in a plush chair in the farthest corner of the cabin, his head bent intently over his red leather journal. It was one of the seven he'd bought before they left. Spencer had been worried about that too; the color choices he'd made in particular were too familiar. The dark reds and patterned blacks took Spencer back too vividly to a time in Ryan's life where there was always tension and anger coiling inside him. Tighter and tighter until he would snap, or when he could manage it, bleed it out onto the page.

To see Ryan in the clothes he had wrapped himself in like a second skin in those days was alarming enough. Combined with the sight of his tense, guarded hunch, the tightness of his mouth as he wrote with furious intensity, exactly as if he couldn't get the words out of himself fast enough, Spencer was left with a cold, anxious pit in his stomach that was also unpleasantly familiar. Although he had almost forgotten, lately, just what that kind of worry felt like.

He always worried about Ryan, that was instinct by now, that was his job. But since they sorted out the troubles with Brent, since they found Jon and the balance he gave the band, Ryan's behavior had given Spencer a lot less to worry about. He'd been happy more often, and less suspicious of that happiness, less convinced that embracing it would cause it to get ripped away. And as it always did with Ryan, such changes in Ryan's mood, his general outlook, showed up all over his exterior. In his face, the more of it he was willing to show was sign enough, despite how it was constantly alleged in the media and by fans that he possessed no facial expressions. In his clothes, as he let the designs of his costumes, on and off stage, grow less elaborate, more comfortable. In the way he carried himself, in the movements of his hands and the lightness of his steps.

There had been such obvious, encouraging signs. Things had been going well and Ryan had seemed like he was finally letting himself trust that a little, to enjoy it instead of waiting uncomfortably for it to end. Jon was good for that, good at sticking to them, stubborn and sturdy, smiling genuinely all the way. It was hard not to trust Jon, not to believe in him and yourself when he was around you. Ryan had held out longer than Spencer or Brendon had managed but even he had been won over. And the tour, having Jon with them, but other things too, their tour-mates, the crowds... all of it had been exhilarating. They'd all felt like they were finally starting to really know what they were doing, felt like they belonged. Ryan as much as any of them, and Spencer had seen such pride on his face at the way he had led them there, the way his dreams had turned into an even better reality which they were living out together. The four of them against the world, enjoying the fact that lately the world wasn't putting up so much of a fight.

And that was the frustrating thing, the part that was truly throwing Spencer off. Nothing had happened. The tour had been successful, had ended in flashy, excessive glory. The label, Pete, was being patient about the new album, was encouraging them to take their time, to get it right. They were all getting along, fitting better with each other, into each other, all the time. They were fighting less, learning how to handle each other when they did. Spencer personally had felt like they were moving toward something, as if the four of them were toying with the edges of a new and important level, with the band and their relationships with each other. Spencer had, himself, been enjoying the anticipation. Little snatches of awareness and promise showing up in Jon's eyes, or the extra, frenzied energy exuded to distract from the careful insights being collected in Brendon's. The way Ryan had been relaxing more and more into all of their presences, their touches. Falling asleep on Jon's shoulder, closing his eyes and hugging back when Brendon jumped him.

But now, suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, Ryan had recoiled sharply into himself. All he was doing was writing lyrics in old clothes, and Spencer could see how someone who didn't know Ryan or who had been fooled by him would think that Spencer was over-reacting. But anyone who actually knew Ryan, Spencer was sure, would be able to see the walls Ryan was building around himself in that chair, inside that skin Spencer had wanted to believe Ryan had shed for good months if not years ago. Ryan wouldn't be any help, not yet; the direct approach was never very likely to yield results. The best chance was in those lyrics Ryan was scribbling, and Spencer just hoped Ryan wasn't so far along that he wouldn't want to show them to his band. That was how it worked with Ryan, was the way their friendship had worked for years. Ryan wouldn't talk about his feelings, but he could almost always find a way to write about them. Once they were written down and removed from him in metaphor and imagery, Ryan was ready to talk, ready to explain his words for Brendon to sing and for Spencer and Jon to play. Before them, Ryan and Spencer had given music and voice to Ryan's words as best they could, two alone. Spencer was proud of those songs, of the time they'd gotten Ryan through with them, proud that they'd managed that only together. But it was easier with four. It was better.

Jon heard things Spencer sometimes couldn't; Brendon put voice to feelings Ryan, and sometimes even Spencer, didn't want to face. They took care of Ryan like that, and through Ryan, found a shared life that allowed them to take care of each other. So as long as Ryan found the words, so long as he trusted them with his band, Spencer had to believe he, and they, would be alright.

*

 

Spencer's fears were soon echoed by Jon, who spent five minutes watching Ryan chew at the tips of his fingers while glaring at his journal before he sidled up to Spencer and whispered,

"What's wrong with Ryan?"

Spencer scrunched his face, worried, frustrated. "I'm not sure yet."

Jon nodded understandingly towards Ryan, his eyes following the frenzied movement of Ryan's pen.

"Looks like he's going to be at it for awhile," Jon noted, voice low and considering in Spencer's ear.

Spencer tried to smile. "At least it'll be good for the album."

Jon squeezed Spencer's shoulder and left it at that.

Brendon wasn't far behind Jon in noticing what was going on, but he handled it differently. Instead of talking to Spencer and Jon, he started making noise. He messed around on Spencer's drums until Spencer's glare dissuaded him. Then he grabbed a guitar and started singing, loud and falsely exuberant. Spencer retreated to his room and Jon joined him soon after. Together they sat on Spencer's bed and shared expectant, weary looks. Leaving Brendon and Ryan out there alone together, in the kind of mood they both seemed to be in, feeding off each other, was not unlike a powder keg. Sure enough, Brendon was barely into his third song when his singing was halted by a sudden crash and yell. Spencer and Jon rushed out and the scene before them was even worse than expected.

Ryan was standing up on the chair, his face white and furious, his eyes fixed on a spot of wall a foot or two to the left of Brendon. Brendon himself was holding the guitar before him protectively, a shield, his eyes wide. Ryan's journal was lying on the ground near Brendon's feet. Spencer flicked his eyes up, following the path along which Ryan's were still fixed. He ended up looking at a patch of wall, about where the journal might have hit before falling to its present location on the floor.

It wasn't as far away from Brendon as Spencer would have liked.

"Jesus, Ry," Jon croaked, interrupting the stunned silence.

Ryan's shoulders hunched defensively. He held his ground for a long beat before dropping down to slither off the chair. He took another moment to hesitate, before scuttling over to collect his journal and then he withdrew hastily to his room. The quiet closing of his door was his one gesture of contrition.

Brendon remained still, holding the guitar and staring at Ryan's closed door, for one minute more before he got up and disappeared behind his own door.

Jon bumped shoulders with Spencer and he took it for the invitation it was, following Jon out of the cabin. They took the ladder to the roof and sat in silence again, passing the joint Jon produced back and forth between them, watching the sun get higher in the sky.

 

*

 

Ryan didn't apologize to Brendon, but he did eventually come out of his room. It wasn't until evening, once they were finishing up the diner Spencer had cobbled together, that Ryan emerged. He gave them all a look that made it clear he was willing to behave himself if the incident was not mentioned. If the hollow, bruised look under his eyes was any indication, this was by far the best offer they were going to get right then. Understanding this, they welcomed Ryan back to the table without comment and Spencer pulled the plate he was keeping warm for Ryan out of the stove.

While Ryan ate, Brendon helped Jon do the dishes, talking animatedly to fill the silence.

Spencer strained to hear whether Brendon's tone was sincere or covering his tension, but he eventually gave it up as a bad job. For all that he was supposedly the quintessential brooding, reclusive artist, closed off and inscrutable, if you paid attention Ryan was actually ridiculously easy to read. People just had to look for things other than facial expressions and shifts in tone. It was Brendon, despite the effusive and open guise he carried, whose true mood Spencer always found difficult to gage. Even if he was upset, when that much showed through or snapped out in nasty remarks, it was difficult to discern what kind of problem he was having. Being sad tended to make him meaner than being angry, but that wasn't really a precise enough guage for Spencer's liking.

Thank goodness for Jon, who was mellow and content most of the time, but perfectly willing to tell you so when he wasn't.

 

*

 

They next day Shane was there, hanging out, talking about ideas for the documentary. Ryan wasn't talkative, but he kept up with the conversation, listened to the things people were saying. When he didn't like what he was hearing, or seeing, it showed clearly in his hands, tensing around his knees. Having Shane there cheered Brendon up at least, distracted him from what, by then, Spencer was sure had been a performance. The more relaxed Brendon got however, the more tension coiled in Ryan's limbs. By the time Shane left, Ryan's whole body was stiff and furious, but he grabbed his bag and stalked out of the cabin, muttering something about going for a walk in the woods before Spencer even had the time to start guessing what the reason might be.

Spencer watched Ryan's narrow back (that day clothed in a skintight pink v-neck from American Apparel) recede and felt the worry inside his stomach grow.

 

*

 

It took over a week, punctuated by terse conversations and angry storm-offs, but on their eighth day at the cabin Ryan shoved a fistful of pages into Spencer's hands. It was his practice to write his lyrics out raw in his journal and then rewrite them, critiquing every word before he showed them to the rest of the band. Spencer smoothed out the pages and looked at Ryan carefully. He glared, but it was clearly an internal displeasure - directed at himself.

"They're not... I'm not sure how we could make them into songs. I have this set of characters in my head, I think I might want to write about them for the whole album. Make it more like a story, kind of a fairy tale but... for adults. But I don't have a feel for the music yet. The words might not fit with the kind of music we do." There was something more significant than a change in musical direction hidden in those words, the ones on the page and the ones Ryan had just spoken.

Spencer just hoped the former would give him a better clue as to understanding the latter. But he nodded for the moment, and Ryan fled back to his room. He never stuck around to watch people's reactions.

It took Spencer a few readthroughs to get much of an idea of what Ryan was trying to say. He liked the story Ryan was trying to tell, and the first time he read the lyrics he got lost, engrossed in the universe Ryan was creating. The second time, he got a little further, started picking out emotions, motivations. But there were a revolving set of characters, perspectives. And the individual characters themselves went through a range of emotions: conflicted, oblivious, happy and trying to be. Vulnerable, lonely. It took Spencer longest to identify Ryan among the cast, which seemed to focus on four main characters, with a few other periphery ones who flitted in and out of significance.

The clearer the picture became, the less Spencer liked it, or the way Ryan clearly saw himself in it. The story focused on a mistake, possibly a betrayal, the exact nature of which had yet to be revealed, which was made by the hero's scribe. It seemed the scribe had tricked the hero somehow. Magic or an illusion of some kind was hinted at. The scribe's trick hurt them both, but when the hero wanted to put it behind him, the scribe was uncontrollably angry with him. He distrusted the forgiveness he didn't believe he deserved. And he resented the hero for recovering from the trick - was jealous of the way the hero blithely picked himself up and got on with his life.

There were a lot of other things going on, layers Spencer struggled to strip away. The lyrics were peppered with celestial imagery - the characters were routinely compelled by the movements of the heavens. They traveled across the countryside in this manner; they slept in fields when the sun was high and wove through moonlit forests by night. They encountered a seductive wood nymph Spencer was pretty sure was supposed to be William Beckett. They saved damsels and were pursued by them - but they always fled.

The other two main characters weren't as fleshed out, not in the pages Ryan had given him, but they walked side by side with the hero, and were subtly depicted as being far more united with him than the scribe. They seemed to be bound to the scribe more out of duty than devotion. For the most part, though, they filled the more practical roles, moving the plot along, gathering food, protecting the hero and the scribe from the events they seemed to miss, lost in the dreamy world inside their heads.

Brendon was clearly the hero, although that had taken Spencer some time to be convinced of. Ryan usually starred in his own songs, even if that was twisted around until not many people listening to the song would know it. But it made more sense the longer he looked the words over, ran the story so far over in his head. He was trying to figure out what Ryan was trying to tell them, but instinct had him playing around with the words at the same time, trying to hear the music behind them. It was obvious enough that the four characters - three traveling knights and their not-so-trusty scribe - were the band. Spencer had trouble picking out which of the secondary knights he was supposed to be - but he suspected he was the one who had scared off a horde of angry villagers with the ferocity of his voice and face alone. Despite everything else, it made Spencer smile, thinking of Ryan writing that.

None of the knights were paying enough attention to the scribe, though, and worse, when written from his perspective, it was clear that he knew it. Worse still, he seemed to believe he deserved it, although he didn't always accept it. He was constantly getting into scrapes; mentions of kidnappings and near-burnings at the stake were met with weary rescues from the knights. Spencer got the uncomfortable impression that the scribe recklessly flung himself into danger in order to garner the attention he craved.

The obvious self-mockery and hints of self-loathing in Ryan's words prickled at Spencer's skin. The scribe was lonely among his companions; he felt apart from them, saw himself as a hindrance, keeping them from better things. But he was depicted as too weak, too selfish to go off on his own. To leave them to the adventures and good deeds his awkward, clunky presence kept them from. Whatever the central conflict was, outside of fighting dragons and fleeing from rescued damsels too effusive in their gratitude, all Spencer could parse was that it hinted most closely at the "for adults" part of what Ryan had said. There were dark undercurrents of jealously and sexual desire in all the songs, those feelings and their expressions linked most closely to the mystical elements of the songs. To the movements of the stars.

There were more words, arranged too precisely, than the time they'd been at the cabin would allow. Even at his most feverishly productive, Ryan could be agonizingly slow in the polishing process, and there was too much finish to the words for Ryan to have begun writing at the cabin. This realization served as a disturbing indication that such thoughts had been occupying Ryan's attention for longer than Spencer had noticed. He searched his mind for other signs, played back the past weeks and even months, looking for the usual hints Ryan gave. The clothes, the sudden return of the make-up in particular, were the most stark indication, but Ryan usually tended to drop other clues as well, often as subtle as anvils. He had been quieter, more withdrawn, Spencer recalled guiltily. At the time, he had put in down to simple exhaustion, finishing the tour, heading towards their first real break in almost three years. It was obvious now that it had been much more than that. And worse, if the lyrics meant what Spencer suspected, while he had been blissfully awaiting a closer future in-twined with his hand, Ryan had been growing to feel further and further left behind, shut out. Like the scribe, Ryan was apparently convinced he didn't fit where the rest of the group was heading, and was afraid of the consequences if he attempted to follow where he was not truly wanted.

Spencer read the words and turned them over in his head until his eyesigh blurred, and then he took them to Jon. Jon massaged Spencer's temples and murmured soothingly, easing the anxiety out of him. Then he took the lyrics from Spencer and read them slowly, often pausing to re-read sections before continuing. It took a long time, but when he was finished, Jon dropped the pages and pushed his chair away from the table where they fell, as if he was rejecting them physically.

"Jesus, Spence," he breathed. "What the fuck happened?"

Spencer shut his eyes and shook his head. He didn't know, and he was already dangerously close to hating himself for it.

Jon joined Spencer in shaking his head, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"You haven't showed these to Brendon yet, I'm guessing."

It wasn't really a question, but Spencer answered it anyway. "No." His voice dark.

Jon picked up the first page up reluctantly, muttering the opening stanza to himself as he reread it. He sighed. "They're really good. I mean - I don't think drums would work, maybe not even guitar. But... piano, maybe some string arrangements. It could be amazing."

Behind his musings, Spencer could hear that Jon had reached the same conclusion Spencer had. He wanted Ryan to finish the story because of a multitude of reasons: he was dying to know the end. But neither he or Jon wanted to make this into an album. There was no way they were going to let Ryan do that to himself. Fever had been bad enough, had been enough of an exercise in Ryan bleeding himself dry for their songs. Spencer had let that happen because that Ryan had needed it, needed the release but also the life, the possibility sharing those words would give him, give them. But they were past that now, and even if the words were occasionally eerily, transcendentally beautiful, even if the music Spencer was starting to hear along with them was light yet strong, humming in his head, he was not letting Ryan put himself through that again. Between the four of them it was alright, made bearable by by Ryan's need, but not out there, not for millions to hear and scrutinize and mock or claim for their own.

They nodded to each other once, solidifying their agreement, and then Spencer got up, giving Jon a hand up as he did.

They looked at each other bracingly and Spencer sucked in a breath.

"Alright, let's go find Brendon."

 

*

 

But when they looked for him, they found Brendon absent from the cabin. Ryan shrugged, sulking, and said he thought Brendon had driven into town. After answering their question, he bent his head back over his guitar, his face locked in a concentrated frown as he played. Ryan's theory proved correct, but when Brendon returned a few hours later, he had Shane with him, and that stopped Spencer and Jon from approaching Brendon with Ryan's lyrics. Shane ended up staying for three days, in which Ryan went on long, solitary walks the entire time he wasn't shut up in his room.

It was likely unwise, but Spencer grew impatient during Shane's visit, his worry and curiosity getting the better of him, and on the third afternoon, he followed Ryan on one of his sojourns.

He kept far enough behind to hear Ryan but not see him until Ryan stopped abruptly on the path. Spencer stopped too, quiet. They held in that position for a few moments until Ryan's dry, bored voice cut through the trees,

"Your fall-back career as a spy is shot, Spence. You'll never pass the stealth training." There was affection buried deep in his voice, and Spencer smiled to hear it.

He jogged to catch up, and found Ryan standing smirking, with his arms crossed, when he did.

"Maybe I wanted you to know I was following you," Spencer suggested loftily.

Ryan rolled his eyes, an expression of grudging fondness setting onto his face afterwards.

"I'm sure that's it," he agreed sarcastically.

Spencer grinned, just happy to be exchanging this many words with Ryan again. It had already been far too long for Spencer's liking, and he missed his friend.

That was probably what made him push a little, bumping their shoulders together - a familiar gesture in their friendship. It was too much, and Ryan's face shifted to closed off neutrality, his body stiffening, inclining away from Spencer's.

Spencer contained a sigh but let his eyes show his concern.

"Ryan?" He questioned gently, trying to leave as much room in the inquiry as Ryan needed.

Ryan shrugged off the question, and Spencer would have thought he was rejecting it entirely but then he asked formally, "How did you find the lyrics?"

For more reasons that one, Spencer was surprised by the question. It was direct where Ryan tended to be evasive, making people work to get real answers out of him at times like this. But even more than that, Ryan was perpetually reluctant to bring up the subject of his writing. When asked, he would talk expressively for hours, but he didn't like to be the one who introduced the subject. Spencer believed this was because Ryan assumed people would think he was seeking approval if he did, and he hated to be thought of that way. Surprise aside, it was a difficult question for Spencer to answer. He navigated the possible response and their potential consequences carefully before finally settling on his earliest reaction,

"They're beautiful. So beautiful they hurt, in places. With the right kind of music they would be utterly devastating."

The depth and frankness of Spencer's praise left Ryan momentarily stunned. It was clearly not the response he had been expecting.

Spencer shook his head, an exasperated smile forming. "You're a talented son-of-a-bitch."

Surprised again, Ryan's face transformed into a startled smile. The word beautiful flitted through Spencer's mind once more.

Quickly enough, Ryan composed himself, his face settling back into a bored half-smile.

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," he agreed, his tone matching his smile.

Spencer let him have his escape, nodding seriously. "You're an earner, no doubt about that."

"Must be why you guys keep me around," this time his voice was suspiciously light, wryly self-mocking.

"Not the only reason," Spencer said sharply. "Pretty fucking far from the first one too." His eyes were probably flashing angrily, it was one of his worst tells.

It was enough for Ryan to duck his head, anyway, a gesture of diffidence, murmuring, "Sure, Spence."

Spencer glared for another minute, but he forced himself to take a calming breath and let it go. For now.

Ryan actually smiled, such was his gratitude. Spencer returned the smile sadly and they walked back to the cabin in silence.

 

*

 

Once Shane left, Spencer tried to show Ryan's lyrics to Brendon. Ryan was back in his room; from the smell, Spencer guessed he was painting his nails. The smell and thought of it made Spencer queasy. Ryan hadn't painted his nails since he was 13 - maybe 14. Bad years.

But even though the coast was clear, Brendon was shifty, vague. As soon as Spencer approached him, he grinned; they hadn't talked much lately either, and Spencer grinned automatically back. He'd taken this as a good sign, but it wasn't. Brendon was too bubbly, too wired. He wouldn't stay still, wouldn't keep up with a normal conversation. Instead he made jokes that didn't make sense, not even for him, laughing abruptly after them. He flitted around the room, picking things up and then putting them back down.

Spencer said, "Brendon, be serious for a second. I think there's something really wrong with Ryan," he held out the lyrics to show Brendon but Brendon waved him off, his smile too bright.

"There's always something wrong with Ross - it's part of his charm."

Spencer was surprised by the casual indifference but Brendon continued smiling like he meant it.

"Really, Spencer. You know how he is. So he's going through another bitchy artist phase. We've been here before. I'll be happy to look at the lyrics when they're ready for me - and I'll find a way to sing them the way he wants," he paused, "Needs." It was the first word Brendon said that made Spencer feel slightly better. "But in the meantime, let's just keep letting him do his thing." Seeing worry still creasing Spencer's face, Brendon sighed. The movement seemed more natural than any other Brendon had made, possibly in days. "He has to finish working it out before we can, Spence."

Spencer took in another surprised breath. It was true. He was being impatient. But it scared him so much more this time, not knowing what it was about. He felt like he'd never been so in the dark about something Ryan was going through. He pretty much hated it.

Because of that, he gave it one last try, "They're really good," he coaxed, hoping Brendon wouldn't be able to resist the challenge in Spencer's voice. That he would need to see the words, to make them his own. Patience wasn't typically considered one of Brendon's strong suits.

But maybe it should have been, because Brendon just laughed and rolled his eyes. "Of course they are. They're Ryan's."

Part Two

There were things Spencer learned you did less of, up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Showered, looked at yourself in the mirror, checked the time. If you were Ryan, it seemed, eating, sleeping and possessing the ability to interact with others were also on that list.

There were things they did more of too, of course. Somewhat ironically, considering their official purpose for being here, practicing or playing music of any kind together wasn't really on that list. Smoking weed, playing video games, drinking and getting into fights were.

The only one Spencer still felt at ease around was Jon. But while he loved Jon - and he tried not to think too closely about how quickly his mind selected that word - Jon was only part of what Spencer needed. Just one piece. There were things he and Jon did together, jokes specific to they two, moods only they could put each other in, or get each other out of. But the same was true for Spencer and Brendon, Ryan and Jon - all the possible permutations thereof. Without Ryan and Brendon, Spencer felt crippled, stagnant. He lost whole days to a drugged out fog more often he'd like, but there was only so much he could stand to be fully conscious of those days.

Ryan was slipping further and further away from them, wrapping himself tighter and tighter into himself, losing himself to his words. He hadn't shown any more of what he had written to Spencer or Jon, but Spencer knew he was writing almost constantly.

Brendon held himself together much better, enough that Spencer sometimes almost believed he was imagining it, but the smiles never quite reached his eyes, his laughter always rang hollow. Most glaringly, he and Ryan rarely spoke. They avoided eye contact, never touched. Spencer thought of Ryan's scribe and knight, but no matter how many times he turned the story over in his head or reread the lyrics, the exact nature of their conflict eluded him. What the scribe had done - what Ryan had done - and the reaction the knight had to it was hidden too deeply in the metaphor, its exact nature lost to Spencer. Jon had no more luck, and they smoked their frustration and worry away with increasing regularity.

 

*

 

On the sixth night of their fifth week at the cabin, Ryan set his guitar on fire.

Spencer had to physically pull him away from the blaze, and that was when he decided the time for trying to decipher Ryan's problems through his lyrics was over. He dragged Ryan into the cabin and then his room, slamming the door behind them. He went over to his desk, holding up the pages of Ryan's lyrics when he found them.

"It's not enough," he shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. He waved the pages in his hand the same way. "You have to actually tell me what happened." Ryan's face remained stonily impassive. Spencer swallowed hard, but even so, his voice cracked when he said, "Ryan. Please."

Ryan flinched, but he turned his eyes to his folded hands. Spencer knew this was the only way Ryan would endure his own exposition.

His voice was even as he explained, "I got drunk." He said it as though it told the whole story.

Spencer's eyes flashed surprise at the malice with which Ryan was holding himself as he said this. A few years ago it would have made sense, but that was one of the things Ryan had learned he could do after all, when he was being careful, when it was for the right reasons. Drunk was something they all were, occasionally, these days. That and more, so the simple utterance wasn't nearly enough for Spencer to understand the self-hatred that was so clearly coursing through Ryan. Noting this, Ryan elaborated.

"I got drunk because there was something I wanted and I didn't think I would be brave enough to try for it if I wasn't."

Spencer blinked back a different kind of surprise. It got them a lot closer, but not even that much, explained the way Ryan was sitting as though he wished to be as far away from himself as possible.

"And the thing you wanted?" Spencer prompted warily.

Ryan's hands twitched in his lap and he sucked the bottom corner of his lip into his mouth, biting down hard. Still, he voiced it like an afterthought when he said, "Oh. I slept with Brendon."

Spencer felt shock hit him like a wave, and even more powerful came jealousy, coursing after it. There was no way to hide his reactions and Ryan recoiled further from Spencer and himself as he watched them cross Spencer's face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely.

Screaming jealousy was still making Spencer's head spin and his shock felt bottomless, rendering him effectively speechless. Slowly that began to transform, to turn molten. When he looked at Ryan again, Ryan almost gasped at the anger so naked on Spencer's face. How could neither of them have said anything before now? How could they have done it at all?

He opened his mouth to demand this of Ryan, but Ryan was already stumbling to his feet. He stalled his retreat long enough to say, "Spence, I'm sorry. I know I didn't have any right," before running out of the room.

Spencer sat seething where Ryan had left him for a long time before he managed to calm himself down enough to think critically about his own reactions. Where exactly was all this anger and jealously coming from? What right did he think he had to it? He'd known instantly that he was equally jealous of both of them, but he had no particular claim on Ryan or Brendon. He'd hoped though, let himself believe that that was what they had been building towards, not just the three of them, but Jon too. It was bitter and shaking disappointment more than anything, he had to accept, that was fueling his anger. Ryan had said he'd gotten drunk to go after what he wanted, and evidently that was limited to Brendon. And Brendon had obviously gone along, even if it had apparently ended up badly for both of them. More than the fact that it had happened all, Spencer's fears were confirmed by the length of time they had both kept it from himself and Jon. And Ryan's shame, combined with Brendon's stubborn denial (as Spencer now saw his recent behavior) made it pretty clear that neither of them had seen it as the first step towards anything. Certainly not the kind of life Spencer had been quietly envisioning for the past months and, if he was honest with himself, years.

So this spelled the painful end to those hopes, and as if that wasn't enough, left Spencer with a freshly broken Ryan to attempt to repair. He didn't even know how he would begin to deal with Brendon, who was obviously a better actor than even Spencer had given him credit for.

Any way he looked at it, they were all totally fucked. The only one Spencer was still sure of was Jon, but if Spencer was right about Jon's intentions, he would be dealing with the same regret as Spencer. Which left them with a lead singer and guitarist who could barely be in the same room together, a collection of songs that were layered and fascinating but totally unmarketable, and a set of friendships on the brink of collapse.

He didn't cry, but he buried his face in his folded arms, giving in to his grief, his body shaking as hard as if he was.

 

*

 

After that, Ryan wouldn't talk to any of them and Spencer was actually afraid Ryan was going to leave the cabin. Spencer imagined it and was comforted to realize that he would stop Ryan if he tried. He went to Jon first, right after it happened, once he'd composed himself. To Jon, partly because he didn't trust himself with Brendon at the moment, and partly because he'd just... needed Jon.

Seeing his face, Jon just held Spencer carefully, not questioning him for a long time. Because he was Jon, he waited until Spencer was calm enough to be ready to say,

"Please tell me I wasn't the only one... stupid enough to think we were heading towards some kind of relationship... some kind of more, the four of us together. Please tell me I wasn't the only one who wanted that."

Jon's arms spasmed instinctively tighter and he choked out a surprised, "No."

Spencer closed his eyes and pressed his face into the nape of Jon's neck. And then he told him.

Jon met his revelation - Ryan's revelation - with an angry noise in his throat. Still, Spencer was caught off guard when Jon demanded,

"Jesus, what did they think they were doing?" His tone was off, at least in terms of Spencer's expectations, his own feelings. Jon released him and stood up, moving about the room restlessly.

"Was Brendon drunk too?"

Spencer shook his head. "I don't know. He didn't say."

"Not that it really matters," Jon said with a sigh. "It's the way they're fucking acting now that's so... could they possibly both only think they're hurting themselves? That it's only themselves they're denying what they want?"

Spencer stared at Jon, too confused to even try to respond with anything but a profoundly sincere, "What?"

Jon sighed, scrubbing his palm over his face.

"Well, that's what the fucking songs are about, right - I mean, its so obvious now. Fucking Ryan, he thinks it was a mistake because Brendon doesn't want him, not because he isn't the only one Brendon wants. He thinks he was keeping Brendon from something - from us, and his guilt made him pull away, but not as far as he thinks he should. So he's all torn up and he's being so utterly Ryan about it that it's driving Brendon crazy. Which is why he's being a total douche to Ryan, hanging over Shane whenever he's over, finding ways to get in Ryan's face without saying a word to Ryan directly."

"The lyrics," Spencer said faintly, when he found his voice. It seemed impossible to him now that he could have forgotten about the part of the story they told upon hearing the catalyst. That Ryan could have told him the beginning and caused him to promptly forget all he'd already been told about the aftermath.

Jon just nodded absently like he was agreeing, not answering a question. Spencer decided not to let Jon know he'd let his anger make him so stupid. But while he was starting to feel a kind of wild hope return again, at least about Ryan, he needed to know why Jon also still seemed so sure of Brendon.

"But what makes you think... I mean, about Brendon?"

Jon just shrugged, almost impatient. "I think it because I live with Brendon every day. If I believed what I was seeing in his eyes everyday - for me, for all of us - was love before now, I don't see why what I now know happened some time ago should change that. It was a mistake - they both clearly know it. But my worry is that they don't know it for the right reasons. Especially that Ryan doesn't. My worry is that they no longer think the have a right to what we all want to have."

The words Ryan had said, so closely mirroring this sentiment, rang out in Spencer's ears. He was still sitting down, but he felt the strength going out of his knees just the same.

"Oh, Ryan," came out of him like breathing. Such a fucking beautiful tragedy.

Jon paced closer, putting his hand of Spencer's shoulder.

"We'll get him, Spencer, we'll bring him back to us. We'll bring them both back."

Spencer looked up into Jon's eyes and knew it was a promise Jon intended to keep. There was no possibility of doubting Jon. He'd been broken of the habit years ago.

 

*

 

Despite Jon's confidence, and Spencer's confidence in Jon, neither of them had much of an idea about how to actually begin. Ryan's walls were all the way up, and so were Brendon's, it was now clear. Ryan didn't come out of his room until late the next day, and when he did Spencer had to hold in an anguished gasp. He had a broken black tree growing crookedly up with side of his face, its roots reaching down his jaw onto his pale neck. The branches spread across both his eyes and there were dead looking leaves trailing down his left cheek. His bangs were drawn over his right eye, his spidery hand accented with badly bitten black nails. In contrast, his shirt was a pastel green, with a plunging v-neck. Spencer recognized it immediately - it was one of a set Ryan and Brendon had worn during the final shooting of the Backstabber video. Knowing Ryan, there was no chance the choice was coincidental. The only thing that stopped Spencer from rushing to him and crushing Ryan in his arms was the fear that such attention would shatter the last pieces of himself Ryan was so blatantly struggling to keep together. His clothes and make-up were acting as an uncomfortably beautiful kind of armor.

Brendon was maintaining his illusions of normalcy a little better, but he flinched openly when he first caught sight of Ryan. His eyes flitted between Spencer and Jon, and a new kind of shock registered, seeing the resigned knowledge on their faces. He swallowed with difficulty, eyes wild, and Spencer found himself reaching across the couch and putting his hand over Brendon's, saying,

"It's alright, Bren." He surprised them both by meaning it.

Spencer was rewarded with the first real smile Brendon had managed in weeks.

"Is it?" he*** asked, with a hysterical edge to his voice.

Spencer squeezed his hand slightly before letting go. "It will be."

Beside him, Jon nodded confidently. They followed his eyes across the room to where Jon was watching Ryan write, his knees tucked tightly up against his chest.

"First we have to let him finish our story."

They sighed their agreement and two became three, waiting anxiously to become four.

 

*

 

Later, though, they guided Brendon away, shutting themselves up with him in Spencer's room.

"Brendon, you have to tell us what happened."

His eyes widened with renewed shock, and he shrank into himself slightly. "You already know what happened."

"We hope we know. That is, we know Ryan's side of it - most of it, anyway, and we hope we know yours. But you still have to tell us, Bren," Jon's voice was soothing, rational.

Brendon nodded reluctantly and began. "It was on my birthday - that night, late, after everyone else had either left or passed out. He had been acting... strange, all night. But I liked it - it seemed to be about me - because of me and I wanted --" he swallowed down the memory before continuing, "He was drunk, yeah, but it was more than that. It was like he was gone. And I should have - I knew it - but it didn't stop me. It... it was Ryan," the word came out strangled, with tinges of wonderment still clinging to the edges.

Spencer imagined it - imagined Ryan, swollen-lipped and hungry-eyed - and knew he wouldn't have been strong enough to resist either.

Brendon was hugging himself, rocking slightly and in unison, Spencer and Jon put a hand on one of Brendon's knees. It seemed to calm him down enough to be able to continue.

"He was so beautiful, so fast, I couldn't think straight, couldn't hold onto him any one way long enough to get him to slow down - to get him to talk me. He was talking, but it was like he was talking to himself. Like he was whispering it from far away. He kept saying that it was my birthday - that I deserved a present and," he shuddered a little, "He told me to pretend he was Spencer... to pretend he was Jon. He kept singing it to me, almost, to pretend I was with the two of you and not him." Brendon shook his head in disgust. "I'm such a fucking asshole - he was so obviously out of his mind but I wanted him - I wanted all three of you, so I closed my eyes and let him pretend. The next morning when he woke up, it was like he was coming out of a trance or something. He didn't know where he was at first and when he realized he looked fucking terrified." Brendon made a sound almost like a snarl. "I took advantage of him and I was sure he was going to hate me," he looked pleadingly into Spencer and Jon's eyes, "that you were going to hate me. I saw that fear - that horror in his eyes and I ran," he laughed with a cold, mean edge. "I've been running." He closed his eyes and bowed his head, waiting for the judgment to come.

Instead, what he got was Spencer, pulling Brendon into his lap and Jon, closing in around Brendon's back, holding him from both sides and telling him fiercely that he was forgiven, that he was loved.

He gave into it, clinging to them desperately for a long succession of ragged breaths, but then he pulled himself away from them, eyes still wide with guilt.

"But Ryan. Why would he... how could he,"

Spencer shook his head, smoothing the worried creases on Brendon's face with a sure hand.

"The only thing we have to worry about is convincing Ryan to forgive himself," Jon said, finishing the thought Spencer had begun with his hand.

Spencer nodded, just so Brendon would be sure.

He laughed painfully, "Well, we have nothing to worry about then."

From either side, Jon and Spencer pressed in against Brendon, to give and receive comfort.

Spencer was the one who finally broke the silence, but he gave voice to a shared thought. "We'll just have to show him he deserves forgiveness - that he deserves so much more than that. And we'll just keep showing him until he believes. No matter what - or how long - it takes."

Brendon smiled for the first time in the conversation. "Good thing Ross isn't the only stubborn motherfucker in this band."

Jon chuckled, and behind it Spencer could hear Jon's faith in Ryan, his faith that they would all, the four of them together, be alright.

"Damn good thing."

 

*

 

They agreed not to push Ryan, to wait until he came to them with more lyrics. This resolve was tested almost immediately, however. When they emerged from Spencer's room, Ryan was gone from his chair in the cabin's living room, but they could hear him blaring No, Virginia from his room. Not a great sign. But they huddled together on the couch instead of charging in after him. Brendon read over the current lyrics for the first time, his eyes getting wide and bruised-looking as he went along. He had to be calmed down once he was finished, but they managed.

The real difficulty came when Ryan finally came out of his room. When he caught sight of them sitting in a tight row on the couch, his whole body went still. He stared, frozen, Spencer couldn't tell how long for. He kept right on staring until finally his lip started to shake and Spencer could see him furiously blinking back tears. He lost the fight, standing there for one more timeless moment, staring at them with tears streaming down his face, before biting down on his lip and positively flying back to his room. There was silence for a minute after the door slammed, and then the music started up again, louder this time.

Spencer would have been on his feet and after him just as fast if it wasn't for Brendon and Jon holding him down on either side.

"Easy, Spence," Jon's low voice soothed.

"We can't make him see what he won't believe," Brendon continued. "Not yet. Not until he finishes telling us what he thinks he's seeing."

Spencer took a breath and prayed they were right.

 

*

 

To calm himself down, Spencer ran through all the times he could remember Ryan crying in his head. This was useful because it reminded Spencer that Ryan didn't cry for the reasons most people usually did. He didn't cry when he was sad, or even usually when he was angry. Big things like that he was better at keeping off his face, out of the places they would end up making noise, making sense to those other than the select few paying the right kind of attention. Instead, he cried when he was tired, or nervous. When he heard a song that made sense to him or when he was frustrated and couldn't find the words. Usually though, he cried to let his mental walls down, to work something out, to get through to accepting something he didn't want to see. It was part of a process for him, and even though Spencer hated what Ryan thought he was working through, he knew it would help the words come. And Spencer had to believe that it would only help them bring Ryan back to them faster.

He explained this to Brendon and Jon, and they nodded like they agreed, like they already knew. He looked into their faces and saw that it was true, and it reminded him why he was doing this - why he was trusting them with Ryan. Why he was finally ready to let other people into the bond he had fiercely protected for so long against interlopers. It was because Brendon and Jon completed the circle instead of breaking it apart, because they fit best together. As obvious as it was, it was still strange for him to think about and he wondered how he and Ryan could see it so differently. How Ryan could get stuck imagining himself on the outside instead of looking wonderingly at Brendon and Jon, so often surprised at how well they belonged.

 

*

 

Ryan stayed in his room the rest of the day, but the next morning when Spencer knocked on his door with waffles, Ryan let him in and they sat cross-legged together on Ryan's bed while he ate.

After that, Ryan seemed resigned to the new balance, satisfied by his fragile space within it, and a uneasy kind of peace settled over the cabin and its inhabitants. Ryan wrote with the same rabid dedication, but did so mostly in the company of his band while they worked on putting the already-written lyrics to piano, with Jon working in the occasional guitar part.

Even with most of his attention focused on Ryan, even with worry keeping him up nights, it was hard for Spencer not to be distracted by Jon and Brendon. Now that it was all out in the open between them, now that hopes and unspoken promises had been confirmed, Spencer felt hyper-aware of them at all times. He was almost drunk with the possibility now within his grasp, and he couldn't keep that out of his eyes whenever he looked at one of them now. Seeing the way his desire was mirrored so nakedly in their eyes did nothing for his self-control.

He wasn't doing much better in the keeping his hands off them department either, but he did manage to keep it casual, light passing touches and the kind of low-contact cuddling they were all pretty used to, as a band. He was conscious of the need to balance not spooking Ryan and not confirming his belief he was being gently shut out. In this mindset, Spencer returned to the regime of occasional arm squeezes and hip bumps he and Ryan had perfected in the ninth grade. He even caught Ryan smiling at him with a mix of bored amusement and simple nostalgia, some of those times.

Shane came back and forth a few more times, but Brendon behaved himself much better, and Ryan began to slowly relax himself in Shane's presence again. He didn't shoot that much footage, but Spencer liked the parts Shane saw and put to camera. It gave him a chance to look at himself from the outside, to gage whether he was succeeding at maintaining the crucial balance with Ryan, to see just how clearly the love and want he felt for all of them showed on his face. Shane didn't say anything, but Spencer guessed he could see it too. Spencer wondered, occasionally, if Ryan would, were he presented with video evidence. He wished it would - could - be that simple.

But simple answers and living a simple life were never part of knowing Ryan. In all the years Spencer had loved him, it was never what that had been about, and he decided it was silly to start hoping for that now. No, loving Ryan was never going to be simple. But maybe that was why he was so worth it.

If Spencer had a type, anyway, that was certainly it. There was nothing simple about loving Brendon or Jon either. Never mind all three of them together.

Spencer smiled to himself, thinking about it that way. With the three of them in his life, one thing at least was certain - he was bound to live in interesting times.

Part Three

Then, abruptly, and with a disturbing sense of finality, Ryan just stopped. Stopped writing, stopped eating, stopped talking and stopped coming out of his room. He locked himself up in there and ignored all their protests, all their attempts to yell or woo him out. Spencer left food outside Ryan's door every night and sometimes in the morning the water beside the food plate was gone, but that was all.

Desperate and terrified, on the fifth day of Ryan's self imposed exile, Spencer called Pete. It almost killed him to do it, to take that knock to his pride, to accept that there was something wrong with Ryan that he and his guys couldn't fix. But he could stand anything as long as it helped Ryan. And Pete wasn't them, but he was one crazy, fucked-up motherfucker, and he loved Ryan. That was how it was for them - they knew each other, saw the darkest, meanest bits, and loved each other anyway. Spencer could say the same for himself, for Brendon or Jon, but Ryan didn't see the same darkness answering back when he looked at them. He did with Pete, and he always had. From a time even before he met Pete, that was what made Ryan trust him.

So Spencer called Pete, with Jon and Brendon curled protectively at his sides, and together they asked Pete to come and help save their band. Help save Ryan.

Pete arrived at the cabin the next morning. Behind his shades his looked exhausted and angry, but he had real smiles for each other them as he nodded hellos.

His first words were, "Where is he?"

The three of them pointed to Ryan's door in an untentionally synchronized motion. Pete nodded grimly and marched over.

 

He rapped on the door, a swift, impatient series of knocks, and commanded, "Ryan Ross - you let me in this fucking second."

There was a hollow, tense silence, and then Ryan's door opened a fraction of an inch. Pete gave the remaining members of Panic a bracing smile, and then slipped through the door, closing it gently behind him. Jon, Brendon and Spencer hunched anxiously together on the couch, their hands linking in a chain while they attempted to survive the wait.

Twice, they heard incomprehensible yelling and once, a loud crash, but they held each other down and waited it out. Outside of those isolated outbursts, there was no discernible sound from Ryan's room.

Nearly five hours later, Pete emerged. He greeted them bleakly, and he came alone.

"Ryan?" Spencer demanded almost frantically.

Pete shook his head. "He's finished." He sighed. "Finished the songs, finished... whatever he was working out writing them. He showed me some of them, it's good fucking shit - not that that's much of a consolation. But he wouldn't show me the end. He talked a little, enough for me to get an idea about... what he thinks is going on. But I couldn't get him to budge, couldn't get him to let go of that." He shook his head again. "All this time, since you guys got here and maybe before that, he threw himself into the writing so he could escape what was happening. So he could turn it into something that was happening to someone else. But now that he's done... there's nothing else he can do but face it. Face it and... grieve."

It was the answer Spencer had been hoping to escape, but hearing Pete say that word, Spencer knew it was true. A quick look to Brendon and Jon was all it took to see they'd reached the same conclusion. Too far. It had gone far too far, and they couldn't wait for Ryan to come to them any longer. All they could do now was charge in and hope they could help Ryan claw back from the edge.

They hugged Pete good-bye and he was off again, back to his own band, his own demons. They watched his car drive down the dirt road until it was out of view and then, hands still joined, marched single-file through the door Pete had managed to pry open.

When Ryan looked up at them as they entered the room he didn't look surprised, only resigned. Spencer guessed he'd been struggling to compose himself since the second Pete left the room.

If he'd been asked, Spencer would have predicted it would have been him, but Brendon was the one who broke away, stopping himself only inches away from Ryan's carefully blank face.

"Are you not in this band, asshole? Have you not been with us, on the road, on stage and every step of the way in between? How could you possibly not know how we feel about you? How could you not see that we're all here for you? You brought us together, you jerk. Is it so hard to believe you're what keeps us together too?!"

Spencer wondered, often, but especially at times like this, how Ryan honestly thought he was good at hiding his emotions. He was keeping his face blank, in the face of Brendon's tirade, but every ounce of his strength was so obviously directed to the task, every fiber of his being straining for cool nonchalance. Not even a complete stranger would have been able to miss the flurry of emotions Ryan was killing himself to attempt to contain.

Unable to do anything else, Jon and Spencer closed the distance between themselves and Brendon and Ryan. Ryan tried to back away, but Brendon had him pretty well penned in between himself and the wall. Spencer and Jon's presence cut off the remaining avenues of escape.

Ryan swallowed, admitting defeat.

"I'm trying," was what he eventually came up with.

Brendon tossed his head back, making a noise something like a frustrated growl. Jon put a hand on Brendon's neck and he calmed down visibly. Spencer watched Ryan stare at them with a kind of morbid fascination.

Knowing they weren't getting through to Ryan this way, Spencer asked, "Ryan, where are the rest of the lyrics?"

At any other moment, Ryan probably would have refused to show them, but he was clearly desperate, thinking this was his only way out. He motioned jerkily over to his desk murmuring, "top drawer." With a small nod to Brendon and Spencer, Jon went and retrieved them.

Ryan blinked, surprise taking over as he began to realize what was happening. His head twisted wildly, looking for an exit.

"We want you to stay, Ry." Spencer told him as gently as he could while still sounding like he meant it. Like there was no other choice.

"We need you to," Jon added.

Ryan's body stilled but his eyes remained active, flitting across their faces frantically.

Brendon grabbed Ryan's wrist and held on firmly, commanding, "Stay."

Ryan closed his eyes and Spencer saw the last bit of fight go out of him. He tried to remind himself that it was a good thing, a necessary thing, as he, Jon and Brendon bent over the remaining lyrics to see exactly what Ryan thought was awaiting him.

In the end, it wasn't even as bad as Spencer had been afraid of. Not when he first thought about it, anyway. But as he thought the words over, saw their impact written on Brendon and Jon's faces, he realized it was worse.

In a twisted and chilling way, Ryan had attempted to give himself a happy ending. The last three complete songs were about a battle against a corrupt Lord and his castle guards. The three knights and their scribe faced this enemy together and won the day, united for one stunning moment in their victory. But in the final song there was a parting of ways. The scribe, coming to accept he had no place in the knights' world, not brave or daring enough, lacking their trueness of heart, made a noble sacrifice. In leaving them behind, and promising to write of their brave deeds while guarding their secrets, the scribe redeemed himself in the eyes of the knights, but most importantly, in his own. The last stanza described him riding off into the night alone while the knights lay together in the cool grass, speaking kindly of their departed friend and reveling in each other. In leaving, the scribe retained an identity worth remembering, and a life of loneliness and uncertainty on the open road was deemed a small price to pay.

Again, Brendon was the quickest of the three, first to react. He shoved the pages away from himself, breaking the half circle they had formed around Ryan.

"I'm not singing this," he fumed. "I'm not singing it and I'm not living it either." He rounded back on them, getting up even closer, his nose and Ryan's almost touching. "You hear me, Ross? You're not getting rid of me so easily. I fucking love you - you headcase - I don't care what you do or think you deserve. I'm not ever letting you go."

Jon nodded firmly. "What he said."

They'd been closed the whole time, but at this, Ryan's eyes flew open. But instead of looking at Brendon or Jon, Ryan's eyes settled on Spencer.

"Spence, tell them," he half pleaded, half ordered.

Spencer shook his head. "Tell them what, Ryan? That you don't deserve them? That they shouldn't love you?"

Absurdly, Ryan relaxed, and he nodded his head almost eagerly.

Spencer gave in and let his hands fly to Ryan's shoulders, holding him almost tight enough to hurt.

He shook Ryan, just slightly, as he said, "I can't do that Ryan. I can't say that. Not about them and not about me. They know exactly what and who you are - and they love you for it. Just like I do. Just like I always have. Always will."

Ryan shook his whole body, "But I - I'm not - the three of you have a chance to have something that's just your own. You found it without me - you don't need me. I'm not saying I'm leaving the band - I can't say that. But this other thing, loving each other. I can let you have that without clogging it all up, throwing my selfishness into the mix. I know I haven't really been acting like it but I honestly can. I can let you guys have your happily ever after."

Half of Spencer was on the brink of tears, and the other half wanted to strangle Ryan where he stood. On his left, Brendon seemed to be losing a similar battle to the latter option.

"Are you fucking listening? We don't want your fucking happily ever after! There is no happily ever after - there is no happily! Not without you in it."

Jon's voice cut in, smooth and undeniable, through the wounded silence that followed, "Ryan, who would I make hazardous s'mores with at three in the morning? Who would I sing with across the bus and play guitar one-handed with at 5am? Who would help me put Brendon to bed after Spencer caved and let him mix sugar and Red Bull after 6pm?"

Seeing a flicker of recognition cross Ryan's face, Spencer picked up after Jon, "And who will I get into fights with about which Backstreet Boy is gayer or whether the brown M&Ms really do taste different than the other colors? Who would know how to make me cinnamon apples and raspberry tea when I'm sick and peanut butter playdough when I'm sad? Who would smile at me on stage every other night when we make a mistake at the same time? Who would help me fill Brendon and Jon's shoes with half-priced chocolate eggs every year the day after Easter?"

Ryan opened his mouth to interrupt, to protest, but Brendon didn't let him get that far.

"We don't want those things from the guitarist in our band. We want them from our lover, from our friend. Ryan don't you see that lines like that don't even make sense anymore? That we love you because you're meant to be all those things? Because we're meant to be them for each other? Playing music together, being in the band, it was never the only reason we were together. Never the only reason we mattered to each other. It'd be pretty fucking stupid to turn our backs on that now, not when we're all finally realizing just how deep that goes."

Ryan stared at all of them, blinking wordlessly for a frighteningly long time. The long silence made it all the more jarring when Ryan suddenly laughed, clear and loud, and said,

"Next time you eloquent motherfuckers write the lyrics."

Spencer felt weeks worth of tension and worry escape his body like air from a balloon and Jon actually threw his head back and laughed, but Brendon's face remained hard, eyes narrowed.

"Do you believe us?"

At Brendon's question, Ryan's face grew serious, blank, again. "I want to. I'm trying."

Brendon's hands clenched. "I didn't forget, you know. I didn't get over it. I agonized over what I'd done - what I'd done to you, Ryan - I have been, every second since it happened. I'm so fucking sorry and I've wanted to tell you that - so much - but I couldn't because I was too afraid of what you'd think I was apologizing for."

Ryan's eyes widened and he actually reached out to touch, his fingertips grazing the edge of Brendon's jaw.

"Tell me now," he suggested softly.

In an instant, Brendon's transformed into something tender, hopeful. "Ryan, I'm sorry. I was selfish and impatient and I wanted everything, but I was ready to settle for just a part, just a night, because I was too lost in you to think of anything else. It's no excuse, but you touched me and I lost my ability to think. Because of that, my weakness, my greed, I almost cost us everything. And if anything would be worth that – Ryan, it's you. But not when it doesn't have to be about that, not when we really can have it all, with no one on the outside looking in. Please don't let... our mistake cost us that." He smiled slightly, inclining towards them as he said, "It would hardly be fair to Jon and Spencer."

Amazingly, the same sly half-smile found its way onto Ryan's lips.

"Fairness is important."

Brendon nodded wisely. "I was raised to believe it is the corner stone of any polygamous relationship," he said, his tone staying serious while a laugh danced in his eyes.

Ryan stroked his chin, tapping his jaw thoughtfully with his index finger. "Well, you are the expert."

Brendon poorly restrained his grin, "That I am."

Seriousness returned once again to Ryan's stance, but traces of levity clung to his face. "I guess I ought to put my faith in your superior expertise then." He dropped all coyness from his voice, "I should trust you."

Spencer felt hope surge in his chest, "Trust all of us, Ry."

"Like we trust you," Jon finished, laying a hand on Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan looked at all of them, hopeful smiles on their faces, and smiled sadly back.

"I got myself a little out of practice in both those regards." He lifted his eyes, daring to hope. "You promise to help me get back on my feet?"

Moving together, all three of them nodded.

"We promise."

 

*

 

Convincing Ryan he could trust them, and himself, and most importantly, himself with them, was a process that turned out to be more fun than getting him to see he had to learn to trust in a new way in the first place, although it proved no less complicated. Spencer was comfortable, though, sure now of the path they were finally embarking on together. Knowing that much, he didn't mind how long it took them to get there, nor how many stumbles and missteps they look as they found their way.

And it wasn't complicated just because of Ryan, either. It was all of them - finally - and it turned out they all brought their own issues along with them. Spencer knew, for himself, that he still felt prickly, jealous pangs when he thought about what happened between Ryan and Brendon. They both had their own guilt about that and more. And Jon, for all that he seemed made of confidence and calm, had moments of frustration and insecurity just like the rest of them. They all still had their tempers, too. Their tempers and their loyalties and their insecurities and their desires.

So it was complicated, yes. But it was also fun. Fun because now they were allowed to touch. All of them and all the time. Practically speaking of course, it couldn't really be all the time, but faced with all three of them, Spencer felt like he never ran out of mouths he wanted to kiss, hands he wanted to hold, bodies he burned to fit tightly against his. This, then, was the part of a still-easily-spooked Ryan or a guilty Brendon that Spencer was more than happy to coax into comforted confidence with soft looks and lingering touches. The fact that there was two of them made it all the better that Jon was there, too, with his own pair of steady hands and sure lips.

They'd begun sharing a bed, the four of them finally together, the same night as Pete's short but effective visit. They hadn't moved much further than the actual sleeping yet, but no part of Spencer was complaining. He wasn't sure anything could beat waking Ryan up with slow kisses moments after Jon or Brendon had woken Spencer himself up the same way. Jon certainly had some ideas in that regard, but Spencer was getting used to the fun of that part too. The dirtier Jon's mouth got, the pinker the blush on Ryan's cheeks and the deeper the laugh in Brendon's throat. Spencer's libido was having a better time lying back and watching the three of them egg each other on in their own separate ways than he'd had in some of his more active sexual relationships. He supposed it was because none of the people he'd dated previously had possessed his heart nearly as completely as they three. Nor had they possessed any of their special charms. Ryan's blush was as much of a tease as Jon's talk, and Brendon wasn't fool enough not to know the way his eyes lit up when he laughed deep and real, nor miss the effect that combination had on his band.

Despite everything else, of course, they were still that. A band.

They were still working on Ryan's lyrics, making them into real songs. They all needed the closure even though it had been agreed they would never really play them for an audience. Maybe for Pete; he'd kind of earned it. They were sticking to piano and simple guitar parts, while Brendon's main focus was directed towards helping Ryan change the end. They made subtle changes to the whole arc of the story, though; changing the tone of the songs from loneliness and despair to one of growing hope, lessening the bittersweetness of the romances. They also spent a day, as a full band, adding a ridiculous drinking song in the style of old world pubs and ale that had them all laughing as they tried to sing the words.

Ryan still got wary and uncertain sometimes about initiating contact, asserting his claim. But that was a manageable problem, and the rest of the band was happy to assert that claim for him until he saw how thoroughly he belonged. How they, in turn, belonged to and with him. Again, it was pretty much the kind of problem Spencer wanted to have, considering how much kissing was involved in the solution.

They finished the songs, and then it rained for a week. They celebrated by staying in bed most of the time, peeling off layers of clothes as the days passed, toying with the edge, threatening to push each other over. In the end, it was Ryan who started something the others couldn't resist finishing. He slid out of bed, his turn to bring back coffee and food to their cozy nest, but instead came back with a smile half-frightened, half-taunting, wearing nothing at all. The looks on their faces gave him the last push of confidence he needed, and Ryan positively slunk back to the bed, working the hips Spencer would have previously said he didn't have. This performance left the three of them staring at him with their mouths hanging open, and Spencer was honestly a little afraid they'd end up fighting each other for the right to touch him first.

Ryan seemed to note this and smiled radiantly; believing he was wanted, knowing he was loved. He closed his eyes and waited to be kissed.

They did not keep him waiting long.

 

*

 

The next morning, Spencer woke up in a tangle of limbs. Ryan was clinging loosely to his back, still lost to sleep. The hand not wrapped around Spencer's waist was curled backwards, twined with one of Jon's. Brendon was curled up at Spencer's chest, his face pressed over Spencer's heart. Jon was on the other side, playing big spoon to Ryan. Spencer tilted his neck awkwardly and saw that Jon was also up, smiling softly at him.

Spencer beamed back effortlessly, laughter bubbling out of him. Jon joined in, sharing in a happiness too great to be contained. Their laughter woke Ryan, and for a moment he looked shocked and uncertain again, as if this was the end instead of the beginning. He opened his mouth to stutter his retreat, but before Jon or Spencer could reassure him, Brendon was launching himself over Spencer, pinning Ryan down. His grin was too infectious to be resisted, even for the likes of Ryan Ross. Brendon leaned down, nipping at Ryan's earlobe as he said,

"No fair being stupid now, Ross," sucking down again as punctuation.

Ryan moaned and his hands fisted at the bed sheets. On either side, Jon and Spencer took one of Ryan's hands in theirs. Ryan's eyes fluttered open, and while he looked directly into Brendon's eyes, he was clearly speaking to all of them when he said,

"I love you. Too fucking much to waste any more time being stupid."

Brendon crowed triumphantly, and sealed Ryan's promise with a kiss. When he released Ryan, they grinned conspiratorially at each other for a moment before separating fluidly, each tackling a member of their band. Spencer ended up with an armful of Brendon while Jon was kissed thoroughly by Ryan. Spencer smiled and pulled Brendon closer, kissing him and listening to Jon whisper husky encouragement to Ryan, being flooded with sensation from every corner.

It was definitely better with four.


End file.
